


Take It Slow

by genus_species



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Unbeta'd, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genus_species/pseuds/genus_species
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William J. Poindexter has low expectations of Samwell University and its hockey team.</p><p>Then he meets his teammates. Specifically, Derek Malik Nurse.</p><p>Dex doesn't think he's ever hated anyone so much in his entire life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**August 2014**

Dex has to know. “That ‘one in four’ thing. That isn’t really true, is it?” He’s sitting in the living room of the Haus on the plaid armchair. Ransom and Holster are playing Mario Kart on the couch. Nursey is sprawled sideways on the other plaid armchair, legs over one arm and back resting against the other arm. Bitty sits between Ransom and the end of the couch. Chowder is stretching on the floor.

Dex’s problem set isn’t going well. Out of ten problems, he’s managed to solve three. Bitty is ostensibly doing reading, but his highlighter is capped and he’s on his phone. Nursey is frowning at his Moleskine notebook, pen in hand, but he hasn’t written a word for the past half hour.

Bitty looks up. “What?”

“The ‘one in four’ thing,” Dex repeats.

“One in four, maybe more?” Bitty echoes. “Oh honey. This is Samwell.”

“But,” Dex says. “Take any group of the four of us. Like me, you, Nursey, and Holster.”

Bitty types something into his phone and sets it down. “That’s at least one in four right there,” he says.

Holster runs his avatar off a bridge. The avatar screeches as it falls down, down, and down. “Shitty would yell at you if he were here right now.”

“Why?” Dex is genuinely confused.

“Darling,” Bitty says. “Frog of my heart. Dearest William Poindexter.” He stops and takes a breath. “Bless your heart.” Then he coughs a fake cough that sounds suspiciously like ‘heteronormative.’

Holster leans over and stage-whispers, “'Bless your heart’ is Southern for ‘fuck you.’”

Bitty glares at Holster. Then he says, “Dex, did you not know I’m gay?”

Dex looks surprised. “Uh, no,” he says. “It definitely makes sense, though–”

Holster holds up his hand. “Bro, don’t finish that sentence.”

“But I just–”

“Bro,” Holster says. He isn’t laughing.

“Sorry,” Dex says, even though he doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. “I was only going to say, Bits literally never talks about girls.”

“I don’t talk about boys, either!” Bitty says. “Much.” He uncaps his highlighter and ferociously marks a paragraph.

“Yeah, dude,” Holster says. “I don’t understand why a group of bros as attractive as we are can be so fucking single.”

Dex glances over at Nursey. He’s clearly listening even though he’s staring at his notebook hard enough to glare a hole through it.

“Genuine question,” Dex says, because now he’s curious. “Is there anyone in this room who considers themselves straight?”

The reactions to the question are interesting. Bitty laughs and shakes his head violently. Ransom puts his head to one side, considering, then nods thoughtfully. “Me,” he says. “Me!” says Chowder cheerfully. Nursey and Holster exchange a look.

“What’s that about?” Dex asks, as Holster says “I don’t like labels” and Nursey says “Ehhhhhhhhhhh,” making it sound exactly like the turtle sex video Dex has been trying to forget for weeks.

Ransom replies with an even louder turtle sex call. Bitty clears his throat, frowns, and looses the horniest turtle call of all. Nursey begins laughing. Holster joins in, but his turtle noise sounds more like a goat with laryngitis. Ransom picks up Holster’s console and tosses it into Holster’s hands. They begin playing again.

Dex tries the fourth problem. It still isn’t making sense. “Did you come to Samwell because of its reputation?” he asks Bitty.

Bitty caps the highlighter. “Yeah,” he says. “Madison isn’t super progressive, y’know? And I got real tired of hiding.” He turns a page. “And the hockey scholarship, that helped decide me.”

“Yeah,” Dex says. He looks at Bitty, again. He never thought–but Bitty’s dad is a high school football coach. He’s not like Nursey or Shitty, with their Andover educations and their fucking boat shoes. He didn’t know Bitty was also at college on an athletic scholarship.

Bitty smiles vaguely and gets up, tucking the highlighter behind his ear. Ransom spreads out into the vacated couch space. As he passes Dex’s chair Bitty leans over and says, “It’s ok, you know.”

Dex could play dumb but he decides not to. He nods.

Dex looks up to find Nursey watching him with the oddest expression, as though Dex is a poem that’s finally coming together. Dex sneers back and him and goes back to his problem set. Number four finally makes sense even if nothing else does.

**October 2014**

Bitty is taping three large signs to the kitchen fridge. All of them say BEER IS IN THE BASEMENT FRIDGE. “Who’s on Nursey patrol?”

Chowder unloads the grocery bag: red Solo cups and a fresh pack of ping pong balls. “Not my turn,” he says.

“Fuck no,” Holster says from the kitchen table. He has a forkful of pie in one hand and  _ Jane Eyre _ in the other, trying to get more homework done before the Kegster.

Bitty looks pleadingly at Ransom. “Bits,” Ransom says. “Moon of my life, baker of my dreams, I adore you.” Bitty starts to smile. “No,” Ransom says. Bitty unsmiles.

“I guess that leaves me,” Dex says grimly from the doorway.

The back door slams and Nursey bounds into the kitchen. He’s wearing a green polo shirt and khaki shorts. He has one perfect orange autumn leaf in his hair. Dex reaches out and picks it out without thinking. Nursey’s hair is soft against his fingers.

“What are you talking about?” Nursey asks.

“Nursey patrol,” Chowder says.

Nursey laughs. “I don’t need–”

Bitty cuts him off. “–You crowdsurfed. You threw up in Shitty’s bedroom. You fell asleep under the stairs–”

“–with a leaf in your hair,” Dex mutters. “How did you even get a leaf in your hair?”

“–and that was all the  _ same Kegster _ ,” Bitty finishes.

Nursey begins to beam with pride, then changes it to a contrite look as he sees the stern faces around him. “I’ll be good,” he says.

“Right,” Dex mutters, slipping away. He has just enough time to change into something more comfortable. Time to take off the button-down. Nursey Patrol means there’s zero chance he’s getting laid. 

Holster and Ransom are setting up the keg when Dex arrives back at the Haus. He’s wearing a worn Rolling Stones t-shirt and jeans with a hole in the left knee. Holster looks up and wolf-whistles. Ransom grins. 

“Nice, Dex!” Chowder says.

Dex flips them all off.

He walks into the kitchen to talk to Bitty. “Why is everyone reacting like I look good?”

Bitty puts his head to one side. “Dex. Have you–” he stops. “When did you last wear that shirt?”

“Dunno. High school? I mean, I don’t even know why I brought it to Samwell except that it’s super soft.”

“Well,” Bitty says, in the tone of a doctor giving bad news, “you’ve probably put on a good ten pounds of muscle since then, so.”

“Oh,” says Dex.

Bitty smirks at him. “Straight boys,” he says, with exasperated affection.

Dex flinches.

Bitty sees the flinch. “ _ Oh _ ,” he says. “Honey, I didn’t–do you want me to pretend I didn’t see that?”

Dex nods.

“All right,” Bitty says softly. “But if you want to talk about it…”

Dex shakes his head and flees.

The first two hours of Nursey Patrol go smoothly. Derek Malik Nurse chats with the Samwell Women’s Volleyball Team. He signs up for the beer pong tournament. He drinks from red plastic cups and lounges artistically against walls.

“DEX!”

Dex turns. He had been skulking behind the couch, trying and failing not to count Rolexes, boat shoes, and polo shirts.  _ Samwell isn’t like that _ , he tells himself. Or, rather,  _ Samwell isn’t just that. _

“We’re on table!” Nursey yells.

Of course they’re facing Ransom and Holster. And of course it’s a murder. In the first five minutes, they make Nursey down three cups of beer. Dex is holding his own, but only because he’s the soberest person at the table.

“Fuck,” Ransom says after he makes his fourth shot in a row. “I think I’ve hit my Balmer peak.”

Dex is just pleased that his shots are hitting the table. Then one bounces off the rim of one cup into another cup.

“You made a cup!” Nursey crows. “You made a cup!”

“Your turn,” Dex says. Nursey narrows his eyes and aims.

In the end, they lose by four cups–respectable. Nursey heads for the tub juice. Dex grabs him. “When was the last time you drank water?”

“You’re not my mom,” Nursey whines.

Dex grabs a larger handful of shirt.

“I don’t know,” Nursey says.

Dex drags him to the kitchen and glares until Nursey chugs an entire Solo cup of water.

Nursey seems to forget about the tub juice for a while after that. They find Chowder and Caitlin and begin chirping Chowder. 

Then Holster turns up the volume on the speakers and begins to sing along to “Bad Romance,” with lots of flourishes, and Dex loses track of Nursey for a while.

When he finds him again, Nursey is in a corner with Bitty, and they both have cups of tub juice in their hands.

“Shitty locked his door, right?” Dex asks.

“Yeah,” Bitty says. “Shit. Did we put up a sign?” He hands his cup to Dex and dashes up the stairs.

Dex takes a sip of the tub juice. It’s cloyingly sweet and burns the back of his throat.

“See?” Nursey says. “I’m good. I don’t need a patrol.”

The only reason you’re upright is because there’s a wall behind you, Dex thinks. He looks at Nursey. There’s a perfect orange leaf on top of his head. “How the fuck did you get a leaf in your hair?”

“Went outside to write poetry. But I forgot it was dark.” 

Nursey’s mournful drunk logic startles a laugh out of Dex.

“What about you?” Nursey says. “I feel bad that you don’t get to–”

Dex shrugs. “Eh, I got to drink.” He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t like being drunk. He doesn’t mention that as much as he loves the hockey team he still doesn’t always trust them.

“–pick up,” Nursey finishes.

Dex raises his eyebrows. “At a Kegster?”

“Hey, it works for Jack!” Nursey takes a delicate sip of beer.

“I thought he didn’t pick up.”

Nursey shakes his head. “The hockey team is really oblivious.”

Dex raises one eyebrow. “Yeah? What should they be noticing?”

Nursey pokes him hard in the shoulder and goes to get another beer. 

Dex goes and sits on the stairs, just before the caution tape. He can see and hear the party, but it isn’t overwhelming.

He’s alone for half a beer before Nursey comes and sits a step below him.

“Do you think we might live here next year?”

Dex takes a long drink. “I hope so. But the only rooms opening are Jack’s and Shitty’s.”

“Well, there’s always the attic, junior year. It’s a D-man attic, isn’t it?” Nursey asks. He doesn’t look at Dex.

Dex bumps Nursey’s shoulder with his knee. “Why don’t you drink more,” he says. “Or I’ll drink more. Until that sounds like a remotely possible idea.”

Nursey reaches out and pulls a stray thread from the hole in Dex’s jeans. “Jerk,” he says.

“Bitch,” Dex says back.

When the kegster winds down, Nursey takes a pillow off the couch and stumbles to the staircase. Dex grabs him by the elbow. “No,” he says. “You are walking home to a bed.”

“But I’m tired!” Nursey says. “And the comfy floor!”

Dex drags Nursey’s arm over his shoulder.

Bitty is in the kitchen washing plates. He looks up as Dex and Nursey stagger past. Dex mouths,  _ I had better be getting pie for this _ .

Bitty mouths back,  _ Tri-berry? _

Dex half-carries Nursey for a few blocks, until his teammate decides to stop being a little bitch and walk on his own. Nursey yawns. “Sorry, bro.” He sounds abruptly more sober.

Dex doesn’t let go of him. “It’s fine.” 

He walks Nursey to his door.  _ I hope he doesn’t remember this in the morning _ . 

Then Dex goes back to his own room. He unbuckles his belt and lets his pants drop to the floor. He crawls into bed still wearing the soft Rolling Stones shirt.

As his head hits the pillow he hears a soft crackle. He reaches behind him and pulls out a perfect orange leaf. Shit, he thinks. Well, shit.

**January 2015**

Dex cannot believe he’s doing this.

“Come on,” Nursey had said. “This is a liberal arts college. Get your arts in.”

As a computer science major, Dex has two electives free. He’s already reserved one of them for an intermediate sculpture class next year (knives! chainsaws! building things!). He can’t believe he’s letting Derek Malik Nursey talk him into a poetry workshop.

“If you do it, I’ll take CS4,” Nursey says.

“Thought Andover taught you CS,” Dex mutters.

“Optional,” Nursey says. “I was working on the literary magazine.”

“Okay,” Dex says.

“You’ll do it?” And Dex had agreed.

Now that Dex is sitting in his first poetry class, he’s rethinking everything about this choice. It’s an even mix of guys and girls and people are  _ looking _ at him. Dex has refused to buy a new notebook just for this, and so his half-full CS15 notebook is being pulled back into service.

The instructor, Layla, is a pretty TA with short black hair and a plain silver wedding ring. She asks them to introduce themselves and say why they’re here.

When she comes to Dex, he says, “I’m…” he almost says Dex. “Will. I do CS. I’m here because…” he can’t say the real reason, which is Derek Fucking Nurse. “…arts requirement,” he finishes lamely.

When the twelve of them are done, she hands out the syllabi. Poems due every week. Reading every week–“most of these poems are available online–” and a class reading party at the end.

Layla asks how many of them have written poetry before. Dex is one of the only people who doesn’t raise his hand.

“Let’s do some work today,” she says. “Strong emotions are good for poetry, so think of someone or something you feel strongly about. Love, hate, I’m not going to put words in your mouth.” She opens her own notebook. “Describe them or it.”

He has an intricate tattoo, Dex writes. I walk my eyes over it and they trip and tangle. He has chameleon eyes. He smells like fresh dollar bills and the ocean at sunrise. I hate looking at him.

He rests his pen for a moment. A quick glance around reveals that everyone else has line breaks. He stares at his little paragraph and feels stupid.

“May I see?” Layla asks.

Dex turns the notebook towards her.

“Will you share a little?” she asks. “I like the first sentence a lot.”

He nods.

They each share a line. He manages to tell them about Nursey’s tattoo without stammering or dying.

Dex is the first person out the door. Nursey is leaning against the wall of the English Tower and smiling. His dark jeans probably cost more than Dex’s first car, and his muscle tee shows off the full glory of the tattoo. He smiles, which makes his ever-changing eyes look blue. “How was it?

Dex considers. “Painless.” It surprises him when Nursey laughs. Dex was only trying to be accurate. 

Nursey slings an arm around his shoulder. “We’ll make a poet of you yet.”

Dex doesn’t duck away immediately. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

**March 2015**

The music is one of the best parts of a Haus party. Ransom and Holster have created a  [ playlist ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2F8tracks.com%2Fsaravonsega%2Fhaus-party&t=MWY3NmI0NjE1NWY1NjhkOTYxZGQzMTcwMDZjNWI4ZTFlZGNjZTA4NSx3bzlMUHBzZw%3D%3D) that combines the best of chilling with the best of dancing. Dex knows a lot of the songs from high school and has busied himself with replacing those mostly awkward memories with better ones.

At the end of one memorable (though now slightly blurred) evening, Holster and Bitty had crowned Dex ‘Most Unexpectedly Good at Dancing.’ 

Dex has the slightly crumpled fake-flower crown hanging off his bedpost.

This evening’s party isn’t big enough to be a Kegster. There’s beer, boxed wine, and pitchers of sangria. No green tub juice.

They’ve moved the couches to the sides of the living room and rolled up the rugs to create a dance floor. Bitty came downstairs half an hour ago, tucked his phone into his pocket, frowned, shotgunned a beer, and leapt onto the dance floor as though his life depended on it.

Dex knows maybe half of the people here. The hockey team, various friends and classmates, and a few polo shirts with popped collars who may be incognito lacrosse bros.

Dex sighs, lets the tension flow out of his shoulders.

He needs to dance. As always, there’s a moment where he  _ can’t _ , where there’s people  _ looking _ , and they’re going to  _ notice,  _ they’re going to care. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

Then he swivels his hips. He lasts half a song, bending his knees and rolling his shoulders, before the music changes and slows. People stop dancing and start talking.

He makes eye contact with Bitty across the room. “Needs more Beyoncé,” Bitty mouths. Dex nods back. He takes a sip of his drink, creeps on a few conversations as he waits for the music to go back to dance music.

He needs to dance.

Nursey looks across the room. Dex is shimmying to “Party in the USA.” Nursey doesn’t like to dance. It isn’t that he’s bad at it, exactly. From what he understands, everyone else in the world who dances like dancing because it takes them out of their heads. 

Dancing doesn’t work that way for him. Dancing centers him in his body, makes him feel alive and aware the same way hockey does. That kind of alertness doesn’t mix well with slight exhaustion and a mild buzz.

Nursey finishes the rest of his sangria. He shifts from foot to foot. He wants everything to be simple. He wants to dance, wants to move. 

Bitty grabs his hand and pulls him into a throng of dancers. Before he knows it, Nursey is grinding with some girl from the swim team. He thinks her name is Karen. Kristie? Kayla? And he likes her ass and the flowery smell of her hair, but he can see Dex over her muscled shoulders. He smiles and slips away when she turns around to dance face to face.

He wriggles up to Dex. “Having fun?”

Dex dips, bends, and flaps his arms. This close, Nursey can see the way sweat darkens his shirt at the armpits and small of his back.

“Yes,” Dex says. His eyes have gone molten. Nursey will never admit that he’s written a poem trying to figure out their color. Hazel? Blue? Green? Brown-gold? They change color depending on Dex’s mood.

The song changes to a talking song instead of a dancing song. Nursey watches Dex shake his butt a few more times, trying to force the beat to be danceable by sheer iron hockey-assed will.  “Dude, give it up,” Nursey says.

“Anything is dance music if you try hard enough,” Dex says.

“Rite of Spring,” Nursey fires back.

“Oh, God,” Dex says and covers his face with hands. “Skit night, summer 2009. Never forget.”

“It was a ballet,” Nursey says.

“Yes. And several young hockey players reenacted it.”

Nursey stares at him, trying to imagine. Dex smirks back. 

The song changes. Dex drops as the beat drops, slowly rises again, rolls his shoulders back, rolls his whole torso.

Nursey moves behind him. It’s close enough that they could be dancing together if Dex backs up. It’s far enough away that he has plausible deniability if Dex wants to no-homo the fuck away.

Dex turns.

The sensations are simultaneous and disparate: the flat plane of Dex’s chest, the cut of his hipbone, the curve his ass as Nursey puts a hand on his hip and leans in. “Gay chicken?” Nursey asks.

“Who says it’s chicken?” Dex says in Nursey’s ear.

The song changes. It’s physically impossible to bump and grind to Queen, and much as Nursey normally loves “We Are the Champions” he can’t help wishing for “Partition” instead. 

Nursey leans his shoulders against the wall. Karen/Kristie/Kayla is dancing with Holster now, her hands on his hipbones. He glances at Dex. The collar of Dex’s t-shirt is just beginning to darken with sweat. He smells Speed Stick, laundry detergent,  _ Dex. _

The Blink-182 song comes on. Dex jumps into the air, begins hopping in place as though he’s in his own personal mosh pit. Nursey leaps with him, letting their shoulders bump.

Dex bawls the words in his face. Nursey bawls “Blah blah blah” back. He doesn’t know the words.

Nursey swings his hips as “Can’t Hold Us” starts up. Dex reaches out and grabs him, palms warm through Nursey’s shirt.

Nursey lets him set the rhythm. It’s nice, letting his movements be dictated by someone else’s.

When the song ends, they break apart. Dex makes an I-need-a-drink motion, jerks his head at Nursey. “Yes, thanks,” Nursey says. He watches Dex move easily through the chatting crowd.

Bitty comes up next to him. “Having fun?”

Nursey nods. Dex has disappeared into the kitchen.

Chowder is standing in a corner talking to Caitlin. Nursey watches the way they lean into each other, the way Caitlin offers Chowder a sip of her drink, the easy way he leans in to kiss her.

He’s not jealous, not exactly. “Can you get them to play Beyoncé?” he asks.

Bitty laughs. “I think “Heartbreaker”’s next,” he says.

“That’s acceptable,” Nursey says as Dex wends his way back across the dance floor. He hands Nursey a cup as the beat drops. It’s hard to grind when both of them are holding Solo cups, but Dex twists his free hand in Nursey’s belt and manages.

Bitty is twerking next to them, giving the wall behind him the full benefit of his squat-improved hockey booty. Holster whoops at him from across the room. Bitty flips him the bird with both hands and keeps dancing.

Dex steps back, takes a long drink from his cup. His eyes are definitely green right now. Nursey copies him, meeting Dex’s gaze.

Dex leans in. “Not for nothing, Cas, but the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.”

“Supernatural?”

Dex shrugs. “My sister’s a fan.”

“I loved that show in high school,” Nursey says.

Behind him, he hears a drunken Chowder. “They’re getting along! I don’t think I’ve ever seen them make pleasant conversation for this long!”

“Quick,” Dex says. “Start a fight, or Chowder’s going to come over and cuddle-strangle the both of us.”

Nursey freezes. His brain leaps ahead of his body–he imagines himself leaning forward and quickly kissing Dex’s mouth.  _ Start a fight _ . That would do it.

Chowder reaches them and hugs them both, one freakishly long goalie arm around each of their shoulders. “I’m so happy!” he says.

Nursey and Dex exchange a look around his head. “That’s great, Chowie,” Nursey says.

“You’re friends!” Chowder says, beaming.

“We hang out sometimes,” Dex says dryly. 

Nursey smirks at him. “You were just all up on my dick,” he says. “I think we could hang out some more.”

Dex shrugs. The music skips, bounces, resolves into Cobra Starship’s “You Make Feel.” Dex pulls Nursey and Chowder in, dances against both of them. Nursey muscles Chowder into the middle, Dex in front. “Woo!” he hears Caitlin yell from across the room.

They keep their goalie sandwich up for the duration of the song. Chowder puts his hands up. He’s a terrible dancer, but he’s warm and delighted between them. Nursey can feel Chowder laughing.

“That was hot,” Caitlin says.

Dex grins at her and bows. Nursey bumps his fist again Caitlin’s. He looks down. His cup is empty.

“You need?” he asks Dex. 

Dex shrugs. Nursey heads for the kitchen. He realizes halfway across the living room that Dex is following him.

The curl of nerves in his belly surprises him.  _ If Dex weren’t Dex, I’d kiss him in the kitchen _ . Nursey ruthlessly suppresses a shiver.  _ You’re drunk. Don’t think about this. _

In the kitchen, he runs cold water and sticks his cup under the sink.

“Not drinking any more?” Dex asks.

“We’ve got practice,” Nursey says.

“Optional skate.”

“I’m going,” Nursey says. “Aren’t you?”

Dex grabs the faucet before Nursey can turn it off, and fills his own cup. “Yeah.”

“I guess we should–”

Dex reaches out and touches two fingers against Nursey’s lips. “Shut up,” he says.

“Shutting up,” Nursey says. He can feels Dex’s calloused fingers against his lips. “Shutting up right now.” His stomach turns over.

Dex’s eyes are gold. He leans in. Nursey forgets how to breathe. 

A horde of drunken partygoers bursts into the kitchen. The moment shatters into a thousand pieces.

Dex draws back. His eyes are green again. He looks between Nursey and the swirl of partygoers. “Glad You Came” plays in the living room.

Dex walks out of the kitchen, his hips already starting to sway.

Nursey goes and sits on the steps to the second floor, and sips his water.  _ What the Hell just happened? _

He sits on the stairs until he hears “Wrecking Ball” from the other room. “RANSOM!” he hears Holster yell.

Nursey walks into the living room. Holster, Ransom, Bitty, and Dex are standing on a couch, singing along to “Wrecking Ball” at the top of their lungs. Nursey wades through the crowd and climbs up to join them.

Nursey grabs Holster’s waist to steady himself.  _ This is a great song to bawl along to when you’re drunk and confused _ . The song finishes and Nursey jumps down off the couch and stumbles.

Bitty catches his elbow. “You a’ight?”

Nursey nods. “I’m going,” he says. “See you at the optional skate.” It’s just two. He can get almost five hours of sleep, easy. Nursey taps his pockets: keys, phone. He sees Dex in the corner, shaking it to Kanye’s “Monster.” Chowder and Caitlin have gone upstairs. All but one of the popped-collar undercover lax bros have disappeared.

Nursey heads through the kitchen for the back door. He detours to fill a few empty pie dishes with warm soapy water.

He shouldn’t dance again, he thinks. It’s too dangerous. But he knows he will.

**Early May 2015**

Dex doesn’t plan to invite anyone to the poetry reading, especially not his teammates. Of course they find out anyway.

He makes the mistake of telling Bitty. And Bitty isn’t a gossip but he is a baker. He makes Dex a pie. And when Chowder asks why Dex is getting a pie, Bitty doesn’t even think. He tells him.

“So when is it?” Chowder asks, spraying cookie crumbs across the kitchen floor.

“When’s what?” Dex takes down one of the blenders and begins to make a protein shake. He’s got a headache ghosting behind his eyes which four games of beer pong and a couple of shots should not have given him. He needs to hydrate, and isn’t Jack Zimmerman always saying to eat more protein?

“Your poetry reading,” Chowder says.

Dex turns a betrayed look on Bitty, who claps his hands to his mouth. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Bits says. 

“Sorry about what?” Whiskey slides under Chowder’s arm and inhales three cookies at once.

“My poetry reading,” Dex says.

“When?” Nursey asks from the doorway. 

Dex feels his stomach drop. They know. They all know. “Next Wednesday. Seven.” 

They’re all smiling at him–Whiskey, Chowder, Bits, and Nursey–in combinations of amusement and pride. Dex wants to die right now.

When the fateful day arrives, Dex puts on khakis, a blue button-down, his least ratty Converse, and prepares to meet his fate. 

He arrives early enough that only a few of his classmates are there. The refreshments table includes a closed package of Entenmann’s chocolate chip cookies and a jug of water with lemon slices. Dex breathes and looks around the mini-auditorium. Maybe they’ll forget. Maybe he’ll drop dead in the next ten minutes.

Then half the hockey team arrives with three pies and bright chirping faces.

Dex goes to the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face.

They take up an entire two rows, and Dex can see his classmates eye the horde of buff jocks with a combination of fear and hunger. He waves to Bits. Nursey waves back.

Layla gets up and thanks everyone for coming. She grins at the hockey bros. Dex wonders if she and Nursey know each other.

They go in alphabetical order, each reading for five minutes. Dex is third to last and reads three poems.

“Um,” he says. “I’m not good with titles, so this is just called ‘Hey.’” He reads. He does not faint. He does not die.

The second poem is ‘Black Ice’ and the third is ‘Overtime.’ If he had to tell anyone what they were about, Dex would say that ‘Hey’ is about Nursey, ‘Black Ice’ is about feeling angry, and ‘Overtime’ is about hockey.

His teammates roar with approval when he finishes. Dex smiles. After he finished reading ‘Hey’ he heard it. The soft, involuntary hum a roomful of people make when they like a poem. Not everyone got the hum, but he did.

Of course Bitty brought a knife and a cake server for the pies. He makes sure Dex gets the first piece.

“That was swawesome, bro!” Chowder says.

“Yeah dude,” Whiskey grins.

Dex looks around for Nursey. He can’t see him. “Thanks.”

He eats pie. Layla comes over. “I’m really proud of you,” she tells him. “I hope–I hope you’ll keep writing. You’ve grown so much as a writer.” She pats his arm, and he hears the unspoken part,  _ You done good _ .

Finally, Nursey comes up. His chameleon eyes are green today. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey you,” Dex says back.

Nursey says nothing for a moment, and Dex drowns in insecurity. Nurse is a real poet. He’ll have a real opinion.

Then Nursey bumps his shoulder against Dex’s. “You were great,” he says.

Dex looks down. “Thanks.”

“Not just saying that,” Nursey says. “I sit through like five of these a semester. I mean it: you were good.”

Horror of horrors, Dex feels his face heat up. He just nods. Bitty, bless him, pops up and hugs Dex so hard his ribs creak. The moment passes.

After devastating the pies (and eating everything else on the table except the napkins, table cloth, and lemon slices), the hockey team walks about to the Haus.

Bitty turns to Nursey. “So,” he says, a challenge in his voice. “Dex invited us all to his reading. When y’all going to invite us to yours?”

**Late May 2015**

“So why did you come to Samwell?” Nursey doesn’t mean it as an accusation, except that he kind of does.  _ I thought that the hockey team would be less good at baking, if you know what I mean. _

Dex shifts his grip on Chowder’s box and starts up the stairs. “That’s a genuine question, right?” This has become Dex’s standard response when he’s not sure if he’s being chirped.

Nursey follows him, garment bag over his shoulder. “Yes.”

Dex sets the box down inside Chowder’s room. “Well, the hockey scholarship didn’t hurt.”

“Didn’t you get offers from anywhere else?”

Dex shrugs. “Samwell gave me the most money. And, when I made a spreadsheet–it came out with the highest pro-con ratio. I mean, Jack Zimmerman went here.”

“You put Jack Zimmerman down as a pro for your college admissions decision?”

“To be fair, I also put him down as a con,” Dex says. “You know, i case he really did do coke or something.”

“Dude.”

“I know. You realize within five seconds of meeting him that party animal Jack Zimmerman is not.”

They gallop down the stairs together. Dex grabs another box. “But  _ Samwell _ ,” Nursey says.

“Is Samwell, yeah,” Dex says. He glares at Nursey. “Maybe I wanted to be somewhere…more open.”

Score another point for William J. Poindexter, human contradiction and possible closet case. Chowder comes out of Bitty’s room and takes the box from Dex. “Thanks!” Then he grins. “Gosh, Dex! Nice gun show!”

Dex looks down at his biceps and the corners of his mouth turn up in a tiny smile. “Thanks.”

**September 2015**

They’re sitting in the living room doing homework when Holster gets the email. He looks up from his phone and yelps–literally yelps.

Nursey flips himself upright. “You ok?”

Dex pulls one half of his headphones off his ears to listen.

“I got the piano!” Holster says.

Ransom closes his textbook. “S’awesome, bro!” He leans over and high-fives Holster.

“Piano?” Nursey asks.

Holster beams. “Piano, bro. Freecycle.” 

“How are you getting it? When? Tell me everything,” Ransom demands.

Holster flicks his thumb over the surface of his phone. “It’s little old lady who’s downsizing. She lives over on Broad St.,” he says. “I can pick it up any time tomorrow or Thursday after five. It’s a Gulbransen. A spinet, but that’s ok.”

“Bro, back up,” Dex says. “I didn’t know you played.”

Holster nods. “Took lessons from the time I was five to the time I was sixteen,” he said. “I miss it. I’ve been watching Freecycle for a year.”

“Wow,” Dex says.

“Yeah. I was good,” Holster says. “I was going to do a recital and then I broke two fingers right before. My teacher was so mad.” Holster stretches out his long fingers and wiggles them. “I’m going to call the lady now,” he says. “You all will help me move it, right?”

“Of course,” Ransom says, and Dex and Nursey nod.

 

At six o’clock on Thursday, Dex, Nursey, Ransom, Holster, and Chowder pile into a U-Haul van. Ransom leans over and adjusts the radio until it’s tuned to shitty pop music. He sings along. Holster sings too, drowning Ransom out. Chowder tries to sing, but Nursey puts him in a headlock. “Stop,” Nursey says. “You’re hurting my ears.” Chowder wriggles free and keeps singing anyway.

Holster takes off his cap and rings the doorbell. 

The little old lady opens in a crack. She comes up to Holster’s shoulder–she’s shorter than Bitty–with dark brown skin and a pile of white hair. “Adam!” she says, as though she and Holster are friends. It’s possible they are. Holster was on the phone for a long time on Tuesday.

“I brought my team to help me,” Holster says.

She peers nearsightedly at them. “Strapping young men!” Nursey has to turn away to hide a giggle.

“Do we need to set up a ramp to get it out your door?” Dex sounds more deferential than they’ve ever heard him. It’s like he suddenly morphed into a different person.

“If you carry it out the side door there aren’t any steps,” she says, and lets the hockey players into her house. It smells a little bit musty, like cats. Many cats. A large TV, PlayStation, and controller sit out in the living room. There’s also an overstuffed bookcase and a battered leather armchair.

She leads them into a sunroom. The French doors to the outside are already propped open. The piano is cleared off and smells of lemon Pledge. Holster smiles at it. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll take good care of it.”

“It needs tuning, but I’ll give you the name of my piano tuner,” she says. She pats the top of the piano with one smooth hand.

Holster nods. “Ransom and I will take this end, if you all can take the other?”

They position themselves at the corners. The piano is maybe 500 pounds–not a difficult lift, but it’s hard to let a good grip. They hump it out into the driveway.

“Not complaining,” Chowder says, “but I can’t lift this to waist height.”

“I brought boards,” Dex grits out. The corners of the piano are digging into his fingers. “We can slide it up.”

They set the piano down outside the van while Dex unloads blankets and a set of boards. Holster duct tapes the blankets around the piano while Dex constructs the ramp. “Chowds, if you can help brace it with your feet–no, wait, you need your feet. Um.” Dex frowns. “Let’s try not bracing it.”

“I’ll hop in and pull from inside,” Ransom says.

The piano seems to have magically gained a couple hundred pounds in the previous ten minutes. They’re all sweating and cursing by the time it’s safely inside the van.

Chowder, Dex, Nursey, and Ransom look at each other. “Shotgun!” Ransom says. “Shotgun with the piano bench,” he adds, sounding less excited.

“Why are we forever the frogs,” Chowder mumbles. “Why.” He climbs in and scrunches himself between the piano and Ransom’s seat. “Bro, pull your seat up. S’awesome.” 

“Bro, I can’t,” Ransom says. “I’ve got this bench making love to me.”

Nursey levers himself in next, squeezing against Chowder. “Holster, you better drive like you’ve got 50 year old Macallan in here, I swear to God. If this thing falls over we’re going to die.”

Dex climbs in after Nursey. He’s almost in the other d-man’s lap. “Close the doors?” Holster closes the doors gently and Dex leans into Nursey.

They hear Adam thanking the old lady again. Then he climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the van.

“Dude,” Dex says to Nursey.

“Bro,” Nursey says back. “There is nowhere for me to go. Deal.”

Dex huffs out a quiet breath.

Holster drives five miles below the speed limit the entire way back to the Haus. Ransom chirps him about it the entire way. Chowder rests his head against his knees and falls asleep leaning into Nursey’s shoulder. Nursey puts his arm around Dex. “I don’t want you dying if the doors pop open.”

Dex glares at him under his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.

As soon as the van stops, Ransom pops out and releases them.

Dex sets up the ramp again, and they slide the piano onto the street. “Ramp for the front steps, you think?” Dex puffs.

Holster eyes the three steps up to the front door and nods. Dex drags the boards over and Nursey helps him. Chowder props open the door of the Haus. Holster had cleared a space in the corner of the living room, dragged the furniture aside, before they left. 

They haul the piano into the Haus. Nursey swears quietly under his breath the entire way. At last, the piano is settled to Holster’s satisfaction. Ransom wipes his forehead on his sleeve. Chowder collapses on the couch with a groan.

“Well?” Dex says. “Are you going to play it?”

Holster sets the piano stool down and dusts it with his hand. He sits down and plays a quick scale. “It’s not in tune.”

“You’re the only one who’s going to care,” Dex says.

“True.” Holster thinks for a moment and launches into Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man.’ They all sing along. 

Bitty comes out of the kitchen with a pie. He sets it down on the coffee table. “I baked the piano a pie,” he says.

Ransom chirps him for not doing his homework. Nursey and Chowder descend on the pie. Dex watches as Holster lifts his hands off the keys and flexes his fingers. He sees Dex looking at him and says softly, “This is the last piece I learned before I stopped lessons.”

Holster closes his eyes and  [ plays ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DCvhWk6j2tFw&t=ZjMyMTI0ZWQ0NTczNGQzNjAzOWZlZDc1NjIzMWJlNDAzZTFhZTIxYyxyMGRuZEJIQg%3D%3D) . It’s like a lullaby: soft, rocking, wistful. Everyone goes silent to listen. When Holster finishes playing, five minutes later, Dex lets out a breath. “Jesus,” he said.

Holster smiles. “I know.”

“What was it?” Ransom asks.

Holster shrugs. “Brahms. I’ve always…I just love that piece.”

Ransom curls up in the nearest armchair. “Play something else!”

Holster frowns, lifts his hands, and places them on the keys. It’s another Classical piece that none of them know, fast and angry. Dex can’t stop staring. Holster finishes with a triumphant crash. “I have to go over to the music building and get some stuff,” he says.

“Broadway musicals!” says Bitty.

“More Billy Joel,” Nursey suggests. Ransom nods. “Got to have the classics, bro.”

Dex says nothing. The Brahms piece still has him by the throat.

Holster stands up and shuts the lid reverently. “Thanks for the help, everyone.” He goes to the kitchen and comes back with forks and plates for the pie. Bitty sits on the floor and leans his back against Ransom’s shins.

“You’re welcome,” Ransom says through a mouthful of pie.

“Of course, bro,” Chowder says, and Nursey nods. Dex nods too, a beat after everyone else.

They eat pie and stare at the piano before going back to their homework. Holster keeps looking over at it and smiling, like he’s falling in love. 

Dex buries himself in his homework and tries not to watch Holster watch the piano.

**October 2015**

Nursey is taking up nearly all of the couch. It seems to Dex as though as he’s grown extra limbs to cuddle everyone.

Dex, Holster, and Nursey are actually on the couch. Bitty is wedged between Holster’s lap and Nursey’s. Ransom sits on the floor between Holster’s knees. Chowder is stretching on the floor.

“Dude,” Dex says, from under Nursey’s arm. “Are you part octopus?”

“Why?” Nursey asks.

“Because,” Dex says.

“I shoot clouds of ink at people in self defense? I’m the cleverest animal in this whole aquarium? I have eight limbs?”

Bitty leans his head against Holster’s shoulder. “One of those is actually true,” he points out. “You do shoot out ink in self defense.”

“Yeah,” Holster says. “But Ransom is clearly the cleverest animal in this aquarium.”

“Thanks, bro,” Ransom says.

“It’s obvious,” Holster says.

Chowder drops into a split.

“It is never not disturbing when you do that,” Dex says.

Chowder leans forward and presses his forehead to his knee. “Why?”

“It hurts to look at you,” Dex says.

Chowder sits up. “It’s not hard. I just worked on it a little every day.”

“Starting when?” Nursey asks.

“Starting when I was, like, ten,” Chowder says. “I got the left split first. It took me the longest time to get my right one. Not until I was almost fourteen.” He switches splits.

“Dude,” Dex says. “You’re so flexible. You must have the most awesome sex.”

Chowder blushes. “Caitlin says she likes it.”

Bitty throws his hands over his ears. “Stop! I am not listening to my son talk about this!”

“Jealous, Bits?” Chowder says, pressing his face into his knee.

It’s Bitty’s turn to blush. 

Holster eyes him thoughtfully. “Do we need to set you up with someone? Ransom, is it too early to pick Bitty’s Winter Screw date?”

“No and no,” Bitty says.

“Aww, c’mon Bits, don’t be modest,” Ransom says. “You’re an awesome dude. Samwell is full of other awesome dudes. We can help you!”

“No,” Bitty says. 

They keep teasing for a few minutes, until Bitty jumps to his feet. “I said no!”

Nursey grabs his wrist. “Ok, we won’t set you up. It’s all right. Chill.” He tugs Bitty back down. 

Bitty lets himself be tugged. “Anyone who tries to set me up is losing pie privileges for a month.”

Ransom tips his head back and exchanges a look with Holster. “Message received,” Holster says. “Loud and clear.”

Dex is warm and comfortable. If he stays here he’s going to fall asleep and drool on Nursey’s shirt again. “Should we watch tape?” he asks.

Nursey groans.

“Good idea,” Holster says. “Ransom, could you get your laptop?”

“Yes,” Ransom says. “But I’m taking one of your  [ Ten Fidys ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.beeradvocate.com%2Fbeer%2Fprofile%2F2681%2F34483%2F&t=NDVjNmU5MjI2OGFiZjE1ZGY3Y2M3M2UwNTBlYjE4ZDVmNjg4MjgwOSxRbzR4WFdEUA%3D%3D) , for making me get up and go all the way up to the attic.”

Chowder pulls out his phone. “I’m going to text the tadpoles,” he says.

“Why?” Nursey asks.

Chowder shrugs. “Maybe they want to watch tape?” His thumbs fly over the surface of his phone screen.

“They should feel welcome here,” Bitty says softly. “I want them to feel like this is their home.”

“Whiskey’s on his way!” Chowder says a minute later. “I don’t get him.”

“Maybe he’s a dick,” Holster says.

“Maybe he’s shy,” Dex counters.

“I think so,” Chowder says. “He’s like a vampire. He never comes in without an invitation.” His phone buzzes again. “Tango’s coming too!”

Bitty sighs. “I should have made pie! Hang on, I’m just going to–” He gets to his feet and heads for the kitchen. “Don’t start without me!”

Ransom returns with a black-and-silver can and Holster’s laptop. Holster fiddles with the laptop until it talks to the TV.

The smell of pie is beginning to fill the house when Whiskey appears in the doorway. “Hey,” he says. He comes over and settles on the arm of the couch, balancing himself against Dex.

“How’s it going?” Dex asks.

Whiskey shrugs. “Ok.” And Dex thinks maybe Holster’s right. Maybe Whiskey is a douche. But then Whiskey looks up and says, “Hard problem set,” and Dex nods.

Tango comes in next, and looks at the couch. “Um, can I sit?”

Holster pats his lap. “Cosy up, young tadpole!” Tango sits.

Chowder comes over and leans his back against Dex’s left leg and Nursey’s right leg.

Ransom starts the first bit of tape.

Bitty perches on the opposite arm from Whiskey. He angles his phone away from them, types a text message, and puts it in his pocket.

Sitting on the couch surrounded by his teammates, watching hockey games, is the most relaxed Dex has felt in weeks.

“Their defense isn’t as good as our defense,” Nursey says, and leans his head against Dex’s shoulder. Dex lets himself tilt the side of his face against Nursey’s soft hair. His shampoo smells like sandalwood.

“Damn straight,” Holster says, and reaches an arm around Tango to fistbump Nursey.

Eventually, Bitty scrambles off the couch to take the pie out of the oven. They pause the tape to untangle themselves and go eat it.

“Let’s do this more often,” Chowder says.

Dex and Nursey exchange a look.

Bitty comes up behind Chowder and hugs him around the neck. “You veritable ray of sunshine,” he says. 

Ransom finishes the last of his beer. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks for the pie, Bits.”

**March 2016**

“Are we really going to do this?” Dex pokes his head out the window, into the Samwell Hockey Haus Reading Room. Nursey is wearing a black and red blanket as a cape and hanging his feet off the edge of the roof. Dex turns his head to look into the hallway. There’s no one else Nursey could be talking to, except him. 

He climbs out the window and joins him. Dex doesn’t like heights so he sits with his back against the wall of the Haus. He doesn’t like cold so he draws his knees up and wraps his arms around them.

“We’re going to kill each other,” Dex says.

“Are we?” Nursey isn’t looking at him. He’s staring out at the sunset. He scoots back until he’s sitting next to Dex.

“We aren’t…” Dex stops. There has to be a way to say this that isn’t hurtful. When did he start caring about hurting Nursey? “Everyone expects…” He tries again. “We’re not Ransom and Holster.”

“Friends,” Nursey says. “We aren’t friends.”

Dex thinks about it. What is a friend, anyway? He trusts Nursey to have his back on the ice. He’s fallen asleep on him on at least one roadie. They’ve held each other’s heads out of toilets after kegsters gone wrong. He shrugs. “We aren’t friends like that,” he says. “BFFs.” 

And yet, Ransom and Holster cornered them in the shower and offered them dibs anyway. Dex wishes he knew why. He wishes there hadn’t been quite so much nudity involved. He wishes he didn’t want to say yes.

Nursey makes a noise as though he heard the air quotes around ‘Best Friends Forever!’ and didn’t like them. “You’ve got a stick up your ass,” he says.

“And you’re chiller than this weather,” Dex shoots back.

“Chirp, chirp,” Nursey mutters.

“Chirp,” Dex says.

“Roommates,” Nursey says. “Next year.”

“I’d like to live in the Haus,” Dex admits. “Closer to Bitty’s baking. Closer to Faber.”

“Farther from the CS Department,” Nursey says.

“Not as far as the English tower,” Dex retorts.

“It’s you that’s the problem,” Nursey says. He unfurls the blanket and moves half of it over so it covers Dex’s knees and feet. It’s a wool blanket, scratchy. Probably Woolrich, or Pendleton–some fancy brand that shouldn’t be dragged out onto the mess and dirt of a frat house porch roof. Dex feels warmer immediately.

He also feels hurt. “Why am I the problem? You’re the one who talks while you do your homework.” They are sitting close enough that Dex feels Nursey shrug.

“It’s poetry, man. I have to know how it sounds out loud. Besides, why do you care? You spend all your time in the computer lab anyway.”

“So you think we could. Even though–” Dex stops.

“Even though–no, don’t. Just–you think we could?” Dex recognizes the colorless tone of Nursey’s voice. The more he cares, the blander he gets. 

“We’d need a roommate agreement.”

Dex laughs. “We could get Shitty to draw us up a contract. No reading poetry out loud after 10 pm.”

“No saying my homework isn’t work,” Nursey adds.

“No socks on the door during exam week.”

“What?” Nursey cackles. “Seriously?”

“My freshman roommate had a system. Sock on the door when they were…busy.”

Nursey sounds stunned. “Socks, ok. No socks during finals. Or midterms.”

At the same time, they say, “Or playoffs.” Then they look at each other and laugh. Dex bumps his shoulder into Nursey’s. “Music?”

“Headphones,” Nursey says. “Use headphones.”

Dex can’t believe it. It’s starting to sound like an agreement. A situation where he willingly lives with Derek Malik Nurse all the time. “Now for the make-or-break question,” he says. “Top or bottom?”

“Top,” Nursey says. “You’re scared of heights.”

“Fuck you.”

“You are, though. You’d never be out here if I wasn’t out here.”

Dex huffs. “I’d never be out here because the support struts for this roof are half-rotted, and this porch is going to fall through any day now.” Nursey extracts a hand from the blankets and smacks his knee. “And I don’t like heights,” Dex admits.

“So you’ll take the dibs?” Nursey peels back the blanket and crouches, preparing to wiggle through the window.

Nursey’s magnificent ass is on eye level. Dex turns his head away. “Let’s take the dibs,” he says. “Penitus potes de fonte sapientiae, and all that.”

“Pip pip,” Nursey mutters, and dives through the window back in to the warmth of the house. He looks like a spawning salmon. With infinitely more grace, Dex follows him.

**April 2016**

“Great, how are we supposed to get home now?” Nursey stands under the awning of the Murder Stop & Shop, grocery bag slipping off his elbow. The rain is sheeting down.

Dex shifts his own bag from hand to hand. This was supposed to be a quick grocery run for Bitty. Rain drips off the eaves and lands with wet splats on the pavement. “We walk,” he says.

Nursey rolls his eyes. “By the time we get home, everything’s going to be wet.” Bitty had asked specifically for Walker’s Shortbread, for a chocolate peanut butter pie. 

“The boxes are waxed,” Dex says. “Afraid you’ll melt?” He jerks his head at the rain.

It shows no signs of stopping. They’re going to be drenched before they cross the parking lot. Nursey thinks of calling Shitty, then remembers that Shitty’s at Harvard. Shitty’s at Harvard, Jack’s in Providence, and his expensive hair products are about to melt out of his hair and go sliding into eyes. 

But still, he can’t let Dex call him a coward. He steps out into the rain.

Halfway across the parking lot, their clothes are plastered to their bodies. They both try to run but give it up after a block as a bad job. “Maybe if I had a bag in each hand,” Dex says. “Balance the load.”

He doesn’t sound out of breath. Nursey has a stitch in his side and his eyes are stinging. “Hold this.” He gives Dex his bag, uses the inside of his sopping shirt to wipe his face. He takes the bag back. “What? My pomade was running into my eyes.” He sees Dex mouth the words “my pomade” and turn away.

“You don’t think my hair looks this good on its own, do you?” Nursey asks.

He can hear Dex’s teeth grind. “I’ve never given your hair a single thought,” Dex says.

Nursey has a sudden, vivid memory of their last roadie. He had fallen asleep on Dex’s shoulder. He had half woken up when someone gently ran their fingers through his hair. It could have been Dex. It could have been Chowder. It could have been his imagination.

“Man, I’m all wet,” Nursey says.

“That’s what she said,” Dex says absently. He’s walking more quickly now, head bowed against the rain. Nursey hurries to catch up.

“How are your finals going?”

Dex hisses through his teeth. “I think I’m going to die,” he says. “Yours?”

Nursey tries shifting the bag up onto his shoulder. The corner of a shortbread box jabs him in the ribs. “Fucking formatting fucking chapbook fuck everything,” he replies.

“I could maybe help with that,” Dex says.

Nursey almost drops the bag. “Yeah?”

“I said, maybe.” Dex sounds…uncomfortable? Something. “Is it Publisher?”

“Yeah. And I’ve never–like, I can make Word my bitch, but I missed the class session on Publisher ‘cause it was our game against Colby, and–” Nursey realizes he’s babbling. He shuts up. “Thanks, man.”

“My pleasure.” They’re almost back at the Haus.

“God, I can feel my underwear squelching.”

Dex barks out a laugh. “Yeah, same with my shoes. Bitty better bake us a pie, just for this.”

They leave their shoes outside the front door, and drip their way into the kitchen. Bitty sees them and laughs. “Y’all look–oh my gosh, y’all look like drowned rats. Go change before you catch your death of cold.”

They borrow sweats and towels from Ransom and Holster. Dex doesn’t look at Nursey, just immediately begins stripping down. And Nursey doesn’t think he’s especially body-conscious–he’s a hockey player, for God’s sake!–but something ignites hot and low in his belly at the sight of Dex’s freckly muscled shoulders.

Shit, he thinks. Well shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**August 2016**

“Why do you hate me?”

Dex is too drunk for this. Too drunk and too tired. And why does Nursey even ask that question? Does he think that hearing it is going to help?

Dex looks around their room. A Falconers poster, an indie band poster (Nursey), a touristy poster of Searsport (Dex)–it looks more and more like  _ them.  _ There’s a stuffed lobster hanging on the back of the door knob (“We’re too cool for socks,” Nursey had said).

“Dude,” Dex says. “Chill.” It’s the cruelest thing he can think to say. And it works. Nursey’s face goes slack for a moment and he reels back.

Then, “No,” Nursey says, all drunken determination as he kicks off his boat shoes. “That’s my line.”

“We’re not talking about this now,” Dex says. Not when they’re both drunk. Not when it might be another one of those nights where Nursey can’t make it up the ladder. Dex can’t believe they fit together on a twin bed–can’t believe that Ransom and Holster fit on a twin bed. He’s going to hate himself in the morning.

“But I just want to know,” Nursey whines. “Everyone else thinks I’m great.”

“You can’t be liked by all the people in the world,” Dex says.

“Not all the people in the world, just you,” Nursey says.

“That right there,” Dex says. “You just assume, and assume…” He takes off his socks and unbuckles his belt.

“I am too drunk for this,” Nursey mumbles. He hauls his way up the ladder hand over hand, as though it will slide away if he doesn’t grip it hard enough. “Will you remember this in the morning?” he asks sleepily.

Dex groans. “No,” he says. He says no every time they have this conversation.

**September 2016**

When Derek stops to think about it, there are a lot of things he didn’t expect to learn about William J. Poindexter from living with him.

He already knows that Dex is one of the most annoying humans on the planet. He’s prickly and awkward. He jumps into conversations sometimes even if he doesn’t know what they’re about. He’s politically conservative. He never pronounces the letter ‘r’ at the end of a word–only if it comes after a vowel in the middle of the word.

But nothing in this whole host of irritating personal characteristics has prepared him for Lola the Lobster.

Everyone pretends not to know about Senor Bunny. Even if Bitty sometimes forgets and brings it down to breakfast and perches it on top of the microwave while he cooks pancakes. Even if Bitty wrings Senor Bunny’s neck while they watch the Falconers play hockey. Besides, it’s  _ Bitty _ . If anyone in the Haus is going to have a stuffed animal, it’s Bits.

Which is why Lola is a total surprise.

They unpack their room together, using Grooveshark to alternate songs so that Dex can listen to his dad rock and Nursey can listen to his cool indie bands. They even manage to civilly agree on how the surface of the room’s single desk should be arranged.

They flip coins to decide on the placement of posters–Nursey’s stripey Arcade Fire poster end up against one wall, Dex’s Maine-lighthouse-at-sunset on the other.

Then it comes time to make the beds.

Derek is ok with the fact that he’s getting the top bunk. He doesn’t mind heights, and he likes getting Ransom’s bed. Not that it means he’s taking Ransom’s place on the team, because he never could. But it’s a small connection to his friend.

Derek climbs up the ladder with sheets tucked under his arm. They’re dark blue–he likes the color even though he’s learned that they show jizz and snot stains like whoa. He crawls around on top of the mattress pulling the corners of the fitted sheet. 

Dex is stuffing his shitty pillow into his pillowcase. His sheets are faded yellow, with black scribbles that might be flowers.

Derek stuffs his own pillow–memory foam, a graduation gift from his parents’ neighbors–and climbs back up with it. He tucks in the bottom corners of the flat sheet. He smooths his fuzzy gray blanket over everything.

Dex is tucking in the corners of his green cotton bedspread. Resting against his pillow is a large red stuffed lobster.

“What’s that?” Nursey asks stupidly.

“Lola,” Dex says, finishing the corner and straightening up. “Lola the Lobster.”

“Dude,” he says. He did not know this. He was not emotionally prepared for the fact that Dex has a stuffed animal. A stuffed lobster.

“Sara gave her to me,” Dex says. “When I left for Samwell.”

“Dude,” Nursey says again. “That’s so fucking cute.”

Dex glares suspiciously.

“No, really. Younger sister?”

“She’s thirteen,” Dex says.

Now Dex is a person with a stuffed lobster named Lola and a baby sister.  _ Shit _ . Chill, Nursey.

Nursey manages to push his feelings to the back of his mind. 

 

Then it’s time for early morning practice. Nursey’s phone trills and he climbs down the ladder, full of homicidal rage, ready to smash it into a thousand pieces.

He sees Dex, curled on his side with his face towards the room. Lola is tucked securely under his arm. It’s possibly the cutest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

Nursey has to leave before he does something embarrassing like point, or squee, or a take a picture.

**October 2016**

“Shhh, I think I hear something.”

Dex opens his eyes. Nursey’s upside-down face peers over the edge of the bunk. Dex peels his cheek off his Abstract Algebra textbook. He fell asleep in the middle of studying. Pathetic. “Hear what?”

Nursey looks scared. He sings softly, “Ooops, I did it again.”

“I played with your heart, got lost in the game,” Dex sings back. 

Nursey looks shocked. Dex knows he isn’t the best singer, but he can carry a tune given a large enough bucket. He didn’t mangle Britney that badly. “What?” he asks indignantly. “I know my 90s pop.”

“I heard that song. There’s someone up here singing.” Nursey pulls himself upright and climbs down the ladder.

Dex sits up. There’s a wet spot on his pillow, and the bottom part of the page of his book is wrinkly. He drooled on his textbook. “There’s no one here, bro,” he says and yawns.

Nursey shakes his head. He’s got a moleskine notebook in one hand and an uncapped felt tip pen in the other. There are thin streaks on his arm where he has unknowingly written on himself. He starts over to the desk. In the middle of the room he jumps into the air with a yelp. “Someone–something just grabbed my ass!”

Dex busts up laughing. Nursey glares. 

“Wasn’t me. I haven’t moved,” Dex says, and pulls his notebook out from under his pillow. Maybe he can fight through a few more problems before he falls asleep again.

“I know it wasn’t you,” Nursey snaps. He sits down at the desk chair. “Did Rans and Holster ever tell you–”

“–about Mandy and Jenny?” Dex shrugs. “Sure, but did I believe them?” He reads the problem again. He flips back in his notes. Things are starting to make sense.

Nursey shudders. “I believe them now,” he says. He props his notebook open on the desk. They have been sharing one desk because there isn’t room for two. Nursey’s chrome clip lamp is on the left corner. Dex’s lobster mug (“Lobsters are the Answer. Who care what the Question is?”) full of sharp pencils is in the right corner. Nursey’s pencil pouch of 0.5 mm felt tip Sharpies usually rests somewhere next to it. He spins the mug, scraping the ceramic against the wood.

Dex sniffs. He smells…something. His older sister’s perfume. Bath & Body Works Cucumber Melon Body Spray.

“Ladies?” Nursey says.

Dex listens. The smell strengthens, then fades.

“We’re doing homework,” Nursey says. “Let’s party later, ok?”

Dex expects it to work. He gives Nursey a thumbs-up.

The lights turn out.

Dex isn’t sure who screams. When they tell this story later, Dex says Nursey and Nursey says Dex. The truth is that Dex yelps and Nursey screeches.

The lights turn back on.

They both begin to laugh at the same time, high on adrenalin. They laugh and laugh, and they can’t seem to stop. Dex’s stomach muscles hurt.

There’s a knock at the door. “Guys? Are you ok?” It’s Bitty.

Nursey recovers his breath first. “Yeah, fine,” he says. Dex’s laughs trail off into gasps for breath. “It’s–” he looks at Dex, who is wiping tears from his eyes. “It’s a D-men thing,” he says. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Bitty pushes the door open. “Well,” he says. “I came to tell y’all there’s pie.”

**November 2016**

Derek scowls at his notebook. There’s one girl in his workshop who likes to talk about “my inspiration” and how frequently and easily it strikes. He wants to kill her. Kill her and steal her muse.

_ your face a thousand stars _

He glares at the line. What could follow it? Continuing the space imagery would mean black hole eyes. That isn’t right.

_ everyday you drown me _

_ unfold to you like flowers _

He frowns harder. The “you” can’t be both lake and Sun. Fuck poetry.

_ above me sparkle stars _

_ and in your face a thousand _

_ shine to me and each a sun _

_ my planet heart pulls _

He sets the pen down and groans out loud.

Dex pulls one headphone off his ear. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Derek says without thinking. Then, “No.” He expects Dex to put the other earphone back on, but instead Dex pauses his music and takes the headphones off.

“I’m stuck too,” he says. “Let’s go. I don’t know. Run?”

Derek stands up and pulls off his jeans. Dex is already wearing basketball shorts and a faded Radiohead shirt. He ties his shoes as Derek finds shorts, socks, and sneakers.

They clatter down the stairs without speaking. Neither of them are Bitty–who runs like he wants it to hurt–but they’re in-shape hockey players and so it takes them no time at all to reach the river. They turn right, following the path by the water. It’s the kind of warm October day that makes you forget about New England winters.

Derek feels the tight knot in his chest loosen.

_ my planet heart pulls _

_ your starry eyes _

_ everyday i unfold to you _

_ we unfurl like flowers _

He’s stuck again. The images won’t cohere. “Why do people put stars in their poems anyway?” he says. “They just die. That’s all they do.”

“Beautiful dying nuclear bombs, though,” Dex says.

“The name of your band,” Derek chirps back. They loop around the Murder Stop & Shop where they once got caught in the rain.

_ hold, unfurl _

_ shine, pull _

_ shine _

“What’s wrong with your poem?” Dex asks.

Derek can’t think what to say. “It’s buggy,” he says.

“How to you debug a poem?”

_ plug in/unplug _

_ did you turn it on and off? _

_ has it done this before? _

_ only for me. _

_ plug in/unplug _

_ power source missing _

_ toggling between zero one _

_ for you only… _

He almost stops running. It feels like a poem. Short. Terrible. But enough to go on with.

They slow to a walk as they reach the house. Derek punches Dex’s arm. “Thanks, man.”

Dex looks almost angry. “What for?”

Derek suddenly doesn’t know how to explain. For caring enough to ask. For running with him. For saving his homework. He shrugs. “For debugging my homework.”

Dex nods and bends down to unlace his shoes. Derek slaps his ass (it’s  _ right there _ , after all) and bounds up the stairs to write down his poem.

**Early December 2016**

“I don’t agree,” Bitty says.

Dex leans back in his chair, stretches his legs out in front of him, and takes a drink of water. “Really? You think the NHL can accept someone who isn’t straight?”

Nursey almost ducks out of the kitchen then and there. Dex still has the Samwell Republicans sticker on his laptop. He now has a Human Rights Campaign sticker next to it. Dex firmly believes in both. Behind his back Nursey calls him William J. Poindexter, human contradiction.

Bitty runs his fingers through his fringe. “I hope so,” he says.

Nursey leans on the doorway, listening. Is it safe to come in and raid the fridge for leftovers, or is this going to be a fight?

Bitty sighs. “I have to hope so,” he adds.

“I think,” Dex says. “I think if it were someone like Sidney Crosby, or Kent Parson–a captain, a Stanley Cup winner, all that–it would be different. People would care less because they had already delivered.”

“And I’m saying I wish it didn’t have to be,” Bitty says.

“I mean, look at what happened with Michael Sam,” Dex says. “You can argue that he wasn’t good enough to play or that being out tanked his chances. Or both.”

"It shouldn’t,” Bitty says.

“But it does. Closets for everyone!” Nursey can’t tell if Dex is being sarcastic or not. 

“Are you being sarcastic?” Bitty asks. “Because if you are, this isn’t academic for me.”

“Aren’t you too short to play in the NHL?” Dex asks.

Bitty looks angry. “I–” he starts. He stands up. “I know you probably mean this well, as an interesting thought exercise but I can’t.” Bitty turns to the dish drainer and grabs a plate and a towel. He dries the plate and puts it away. “I can’t think about it like, oh wouldn’t it be nice if someone like Kent or Sid were gay. There’s no one like me who plays professional hockey.”

Dex stands up, punches Bitty lightly in the arm, and sets his glass in the sink. “It fucking sucks,” he says. “That there’s no one out. That the culture makes people feel like they can’t be.”

Bitty just rolls his eyes.

Dex brushes past Nursey on his way out the door. Nursey finally comes in and opens the fridge to look for leftovers. There’s some stir fry he hid in the back, if Holster didn’t discover it yet. “Are you ok?” Nursey asks Bitty.

Bitty sniffs. “Yeah, I’m all right,” he says. “It’s just hard, you know? The things Coach–my dad–said about Michael Sam, and the things he said after he went over into the CFL…” Bitty trails off. Nursey nods. “And if I weren’t at Samwell, hockey’s worse,” Bitty says. “I mean, here it’s not a big deal. But anywhere else?”

“Yeah,” Nursey says. He can’t think of anything to say.

“I’m going to make a pie,” Bitty says. “Then I’m going to study French.” 

Nursey gives him a quick one-armed hug and leaves the kitchen.

Dex is in the living room, taking up the entirety of the non-diseased couch. “Bitty was talking about Jack?” he asks Nursey quietly.

Nursey comes closer. “He was?”

“Oh,” Dex says. “I thought–” he doesn’t finish his sentence. He tries again. “Tango said, what if Bitty’s secretly dating someone famous. And I thought, the only famous person we know is Jack. And Bitty said it wasn’t academic for him.” Dex frowns. “I’m leaping to conclusions, aren’t I?”

Nursey just shakes his head. “I don’t know, man,” he says. “I got nothing.” Nursey settles into a chair with his food and leaves Dex, Human Contradiction, to his homework.

**Late December 2016**

Dex doesn’t realize how accustomed he is to living with Nursey until he goes home for winter break.

They don’t say goodbye. Nursey hands in his final papers, puts a piece of Bitty’s pie in a Tupperware, and leaves. Dex returns from his final exam to find Nursey’s laptop missing from their desk and suitcase gone from under the bed.

Dex turns up the music on his phone (finally, he can listen to his “Paint it Black” Pandora station without begin chirped into oblivion) and packs. He sings along softly. “Have you ever seen the rain,” he sings as he folds shirts. 

Dex and Bitty are the last people in the Haus. They split a cab to the Samwell bus station. Dex feels the need to make conversation. Bitty looks spread thin, dark circles under his eyes. There was an entire week in early December when he didn’t bake a single pie.

“Any exciting break plans?”

Bitty picks at his cuticles. “Seeing family in Georgia,” he says. “And I’m going to Montreal for New Years.”

“Going to watch the World Junior Hockey Championship?” Dex asks.

Bitty nods. “Jack got us tickets.” 

Us, Dex thinks. He doesn’t want to say anything. He isn’t Tango–the entire team (except Bitty) has heard Tango’s speculations: Bitty is secretly dating someone famous. 

Dex had pulled Tango aside after one practice. “You think it’s Jack Zimmerman.”

Tango nodded.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Dex said.

Tango nodded again. “I wouldn’t,” he said.

“Sounds fun,” Dex says to Bitty. “Have you been to Canada before?”

Bitty shakes his head. “I had to get a passport,” he says. “What about you?”

“Just family,” Dex says. “Hopefully some shinny.” 

Bitty grins. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat. Dex looks out the window.

Home is wonderful for the first day. Dex missed his mother. Dex even missed his little sisters. He didn’t miss Felix, but that was probably because Felix moved into Dex’s room and sent him pictures. After the pictures, Dex almost ‘forgot’ to send him a present for his sixteenth birthday.

Alana and Sara insist on taking Dex on a tour. Felix has Dex’s old room and Sara moved into Felix’s room. So now all the Poindexter siblings have their own rooms, except Dex. He figures he’ll be sleeping on the couch.

Felix points to the futon. Dex used to have a bookshelf in that corner, filled with a mix of science fiction and hockey trophies. He wonders if they’ve moved it to the basement. “That’s mine,” Felix says. “That’s yours.” He points to the bed.

Dex raises his eyebrows. 

“You’re the NCAA athlete,” Felix says. “Can’t have you screwing up your back over break.”

“Thanks,” Dex says. 

He doesn’t even think about Nursey until bedtime. Felix lies on the futon, his face lit by the dim glow of his phone. Dex closes his eyes and opens them. Nursey likes to work at the desk until late, so Dex is used to falling asleep with the light on. It’s too dark.

Felix puts his phone down. 

Dex turns his head until his mouth and nose are mashed into the pillow. If he half-suffocates himself, he falls asleep faster. He doesn’t miss Derek Malik Nurse. He doesn’t.

He wakes up long before Felix. He checks his phone. He gets up and begins to quietly pull on running gear. Then he realizes he’s set his home weather as Samwell, MA. He swipes over to Searsport, ME. It’s twenty degrees colder.

He strips down and starts again with long underwear. He carries his shoes down the back stairs, avoiding the squeaky step by force of habit. He looks out the back window. There’s a layer of snow on the ground but nothing fresh.

Before he thinks better of it, he turns his back to the window and takes a selfie. Then Dex tucks his house keys into his pocket. He pulls on a hat and gloves, and wraps a scarf around his neck. He slips on his shoes and double knots the laces.

He runs slowly. It’s too cold to run fast. It’s beautiful and quiet. No cars. Just the smell of the ocean, the blue of the winter sky, and the crunch of the snow under his sneakers.

He returns home an hour later, blowing in the back door in a blast of cold air and BO.

“You stink!” Alana yells at him.

“I silenced your phone,” his Mom says. “It kept beeping.”

Dex unlayers. “Sorry. Thanks. I’m going to shower.” He leaves his outer layers in the mudroom to dry, and hauls his tired legs up the stairs. He doesn’t check his phone until he’s done with breakfast and coffee.

Bitty sent a selfie with a stack of pancakes. Whiskey and Tango tag-teamed a nonsensical chirp about Dex freezing his dick off. Nursey sent a selfie too: his hair very dark against the white of his pillow. Dex stares.

Sara leans over his shoulder. “Who is  _ that?”  _

Dex locks his phone. “Nurs–Derek. My roommate.”

“I am Skyping you more often,” Sara says seriously. “I am Skyping you every day.”

“He’s too old for you,” Dex says. “And he’s really annoying. He writes poetry.”

Sara sighs dreamily.

Stop corrupting the youth, Dex texts Nursey. My kid sister saw that photo.

Nursey texts back an angel emoji. Dex puts his phone away in disgust.

On Christmas Eve, Dex digs down to the bottom of his suitcase to find the present for his family. He shakes out the suitcase and hears something shift at the bottom of it.

He looks at the piles of clothes, shoes, and Christmas presents on his bed. Surely he unpacked everything? He reaches into the bottom of the suitcase.

It’s a brown envelope. “Will” is written on it in Nursey’s handwriting. The envelope is oddly lumpy. Dex slides a finger under the flap and pulls. Puzzle pieces spill out onto the floor.

He puts them together. It’s a poem, of course. “ [ Breakaway Sonnet ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fbooks.google.com%2Fbooks%3Fid%3DcnvOJwmpxlsC%26pg%3DPA159%26lpg%3DPA159%26dq%3Dbreakaway+sonnet%26source%3Dbl%26ots%3DaIxTGU6OO7%26sig%3DaLllzgFOJHH3XUMVnA9ZT-V3SgM%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DX%26ved%3D0ahUKEwjgma-bj5fNAhVB9h4KHfyqBFAQ6AEIJDAC%23v%3Donepage%26q%3Dbreakaway+sonnet%26f%3Dfalse&t=MGEyMDczYmY4ZjIwYWJkNTgyZTZjMjAwYzEzMmRlNDY3ZjljY2YyOCxEZnhzRDJYNQ%3D%3D) ,” by Nils Clausson. Dex reads it three times. Then he rummages in Felix’s desk for tape. He tapes the pieces together then turns the puzzle over.

“Merry Christmas!” Nursey had written. “I tried to write you something original but it was shitty. So here’s a hockey poem I like. Happy New Year!”

Dex mentally curses himself for emptying the trash before he left for break. Shitty poem means rough drafts in the waste basket. Rough drafts means…three months ago he would have thought, chirping material. 

But he doesn’t want to chirp. He wants to  _ know. _

He texts Nursey a picture of the assembled poem. “Thanks. I like it.” Then he turns his phone off and goes downstairs to be with his family.

**January 2017**

It’s the bad kind of ‘crack.’ Dex knows the screen is shattered even before he picks his phone up off the tile. He turns the phone over and sees the cracks that spiderweb across the front. “Shit. Shitdamn. Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Nursey turns on the desk light. It’s after 4:30 and the room is starting to get dark.

“Broke my fucking phone. Fuck my life. Fuck everything.”

“Dude, chill. That’s super cheap to fix.”

Dex fantasizes about killing him.  _ That’s super cheap to fix _ . He could stab Derek Nurse with a hockey skate and then throw his body in the dumpster outside Faber. No one would ever know.

“Not for me,” Dex mutters.

“What?”

Dex rubs his forehead. “I said, not for me. I didn’t budget for $129 in cell phone repair this month.” The money from his work-study job goes towards tuition payments. Dex was good enough to get into Samwell but not good enough for a full hockey scholarship. He doesn’t have an extra hundred bucks for a new screen or the extra couple hundred for a new phone. Shit.

“Don’t you have Apple Care?” Nursey says.

“It’s not under warranty,” Dex says. “Fuck. It’s $129 plus the bus to the Apple Store.”

Nursey starts to say “Chill” again and stops at the look on Dex’s face. “It sounds like this really stresses you out,” he says carefully.

Dex nods. He starts to count. Breathe in for four, out for four. It helps until he looks at his phone again. Then panic rises up to choke him. In for four, out for four.  _ Damn it, not here, not now, not with someone watching _ …

Nursey stands up, walks over to the bed, and sits down next to Dex. He reaches over and pulls the phone out of Dex’s unresisting hand. He presses the home screen and swipes to unlock. He types in six random numbers since he doesn’t know Dex’s passcode. The phone buzzes in his hand.

“It’s good you’ve got a screen protector on this. The screen still works,” he says. “It’s not pretty but you can still use it.”

“What?” Dex says.

“I said, the screen still works,” Nursey’s voice is slow and calm. “Chill, bro.”

Dex takes a ragged breath. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t–” he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. Nursey isn’t touching him, but they’re close enough that he can feel the other D-man’s warmth.

Nursey hands Dex his phone. Dex takes it. If it hadn’t ruined his phone the crack would be almost pretty, a brilliant spiderweb. He forces his breathing to slow down. 

Dex pinches the end of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, pulls on the cartilage.

“I could loan you the money,” Nursey says. He sees Dex start to flare and holds up a hand. “Dude. I’m not offering. I’m saying I could offer if it wouldn’t offend you.”

“Oh.”

Nursey stands up. “Yeah.”

“I appreciate it,” Dex says slowly. A peculiar look crosses Nursey’s face–hope and tension. “But I think it would offend me.”

“Ok,” Nursey says. “No big deal.” 

And suddenly Dex has to know. “Where do you get off on that? Like, it’s always ‘no big deal’ and ‘chyeah’ and ‘chill, dude.’ Like, seriously.”

Nursey shrugs and sits down at the desk. “Did you ever ask Shitty what I was like at Andover?”

“No.” Dex doesn’t see what this has to do with money, or his phone, or Derek Malik Nurse’s preternatural chill.

“Um,” Nursey says. “Long story.” He doesn’t sound chill at all. He sounds nervous. “I don’t want to tell it, ask Shitty.” He sits down at the desk and aggressively opens his textbook.

“So you weren’t chill at Andover.”

“Not when I first got there,” Nursey says. “I learned.”

“Oh.” Those two words are an entire story:  _ I learned _ . Dex simultaneously wants to ask and wants not to ask. Instead, he slides his cracked phone into his pocket and goes back to his homework.

They don’t speak again until it’s time for dinner. Dex’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Nursey picks his phone up off the desk and turns it over. “The dining hall has chicken tenders!”

Dex rolls off the bed. “Good,” he says. He grabs his hoodie from the back of Nursey’s chair and pulls it on.

Nursey looks at him in confusion. “Dude, that’s mine.”

“No it isn–” Dex looks at the back of the door.

Nursey laughs at him and grabs Dex’s hoodie off the hook. He pulls it on before Dex can say or do anything. Then he runs down the stairs.

 

Chowder leans over and whispers to Bitty at dinner. “ _ Look.  _ I think they’re actually friends now.”

Bitty looks. Dex is trying to stab Nursey with a fork. “Yeah,” Bitty says. “Sure seems like it.”

**February 2017**

Dex grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. He knows he’s been this tired before. During the playoffs in high school. On his fifth college visit of senior year. Two Thursdays ago. He knows, but he can’t believe it. He drops his hands.

He’s so tired he thinks he might die. He stares at the blue, white, and brown stripes of Nursey’s Arcade Fire poster until the colors blur together. 

Dex turns his phone over and checks the screen. No texts. Where is Nursey? Dex knows that Derek Nurse gets out of class at four on Wednesdays and it’s now almost five.

He prefers not to think about how he’s had Nursey’s schedule memorized since their second week of classes.

Dex doodles hockey plays in the margin of his ENG notes. He should be studying. He should be working on one of his problem sets. He wants to put his head down on his desk and sleep for years.

They have early morning practice tomorrow.

When Nursey opens the door, Dex has finished the first problem and is groaning over the second.

“What the-!” Nursey says. “Oh. You weren’t masturbating.”

Dex freezes with one hand halfway through his hair. “The fuck?”

“Dude, that was a pretty sexual noise,” Nursey says seriously.

“Yeah well, my homework is fucking me up,” Dex replies. “It’s not going well.”

“Need more lube?”

“Brain lube, yeah,” Dex says.

Nursey laughs and holds up a bottle of wine. 

Dex runs his hand through his hair again. Leaping up and hugging Nursey would be totally normal bro behavior, right?

Nursey pours wine into his plastic Falconers tumbler. He hands the rest of the bottle to Dex.

Dex takes a long drink. It’s red wine, he knows that much. The label says Merlot. It doesn’t burn the back of his throat like some of the terrible wine he’s tried. “Where did you get this?”

Nursey shrugs. “I gave Wicks money.”

“Bless Wicks,” Dex says, and takes another gulp. “Do you think they make caffeinated wine?”

“Do your homework,” Nursey says, and manages to climb up into his bunk without splashing himself. He pulls his headphones up over his ears, settles his back against the wall, and pulls out his notebook.

Dex realizes he’s staring. He turns away.

He likes to bounce back and forth between problems–start one, get stuck on it, move on to the next one. By the time he hears Nursey climb down from the top bunk, he’s almost done with four problems and has just started the fifth.

“Don’t most engineers do problem sets in groups?”

Dex nods. “Study group is tomorrow night.” He looks at the bottle of wine. There’s an inch of it left. “People hate me less if I show up with most of the work done.” He holds the bottle out. “You want this?”

Nursey takes it. Dex thinks he’s going to wipe the mouth with his hand, but Nursey puts the bottle straight to his lips. 

Dex closes his notebook. “It must be almost dinner time.”

Nursey lowers the bottle and takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Dex sets his pencil down and stands. “God,” he says. Between the half-bottle of wine and his exhaustion, the room sways slightly. He braces himself on the corner of the desk.

Nursey pats his pocket to check for his keys. “C’mon,” he says.

Dex follows more slowly.

In the dining hall, they all fill their plates with ridiculous amounts of food. Tango starts a contest where everyone counts the types of protein on their plate. Chowder, whose plate includes a bowl of vanilla soft-serve drizzled with gooey peanut butter, wins.

Everyone chirps Bitty because Jack isn’t there to do it. 

“Thanks, y’all,” Bitty says. “I feel taller already.”

Dex uses the panini press and the sandwich bar to construct a quesadilla loaded with an impressive amount of grilled chicken and beans. Then he eats it with a knife and fork, because he knows his limits. He tries a bite of Chowder’s disgusting-looking sundae. It’s so good that he has to go make his own.

He yawns repeatedly and is chirped for yawning. He checks his watch as they walk back to the Haus. Is 8 o’clock pm too early to go to sleep? He yawns again.

“Go to bed,” Nursey says. “I’m tired of watching you.”

Normally Dex would start a fight over this.  _ Leave me alone. You’re not my mother. I’m going to stay up until eleven playing Madden just to prove you wrong _ . Tonight he’s too sleepy.

They climb the steps to the attic and Dex drops his trousers and pulls off his shirt. He grabs his towel off the back of the door and goes down to the bathroom. He showers. The hot water makes him yawn.

He realizes as he’s drying off that he forget to bring clean boxers down with him. He wraps the towel around his waist and wads his dirty underwear up in one hand. When he opens the door to their room, Nursey is sitting at the desk, reading with a highlighter in one hand and beer in the other.

Dex throws his boxers in the laundry, drops the towel, and pulls on a clean pair. He flips the covers down and crawls into bed. He doesn’t ask Nursey to turn the light out and Nursey doesn’t offer.

Some considerable time later, the color behind his eyelids fades from gold to black. Nursey has turned out the light. Dex vaguely registers the thump-squeak of Nursey settling into the bunk above him.

Dex falls asleep.

At ass-o’clock in the morning, Nursey’s alarm goes off. So far this year, they’ve gone through “Good Morning Starshine” and something from Alvin and the Chipmunks. This morning Nursey has changed it, to “Chop Suey.”

Dex rolls out of bed. “Turn that fucking off.”

Nursey moans above him.

“I mean it. Turn it off or I’m going to have a heart attack.”

Nursey stumbles down the ladder.

Dex is already pulling on sweatpants and a black Under Armor shirt. He wedges his feet into his sneakers without bothering to untie and retie them. 

Bitty is already in the kitchen rubbing his eyes and drinking coffee. Dex fills a mug and tops it off with milk. “Nursey changed his alarm to System of a Down,” he tells Bits.

“Oh, Lord,” Bitty says and closes his eyes briefly.

“The nineties are calling,” Dex says darkly. He checks his phone. Samwell Morning Mail, an Amazon advertisement, and nothing else. He tucks the phone back into his pocket. He was hoping his sister would email.

Nursey stumbles down the stairs. Dex wordlessly hands him the rest of his coffee. Nursey drinks it without opening his eyes. Once he reaches the bottom of the cup he looks up. “You put  _ milk _ in this.”

“Yeah?” Dex says.

Nursey makes a face at him.

Bitty places his empty coffee cup in the sink. Nursey washes out Dex’s empty cup and places it upside down in the dish drainer.

Chowder appears, pours his coffee into a Sharks travel mug, and starts for the door.

“My son,” Bitty says. Chowder turns. “Your shirt is on backwards and you aren’t wearing shoes,” Bitty continues.

Chowder turns red. Nursey and Dex exchange gleeful looks. Farmer is probably still asleep upstairs.

They walk to practice mostly silent except for the sound of Beyonce leaking out of Bitty’s headphones.

By the time they change and get on the ice, Dex is awake. He hates waking up for practice but he always loves it once he’s on the ice. The sun is coming up and shining through Faber.

Dex looks at his team. Bitty is golden and ethereal in the light. Chowder shines. Nursey bumps into Dex. Dex bumps back. Nursey glows in the early morning light.

Then they’re skating suicides and Dex has no more time to daydream.

**April 2017**

Shitty brings the can of whipped cream when he comes to visit.

People’s reactions to its appearance are…interesting, Tango thinks. Ransom and Holster laugh and high-five. Jack Zimmerman goes carefully blank. Bittle blushes. Nursey and Dex look confused.

Dex breaks first. “Shitty. What is the whipped cream game?”

A truly evil grin spreads over Lardo’s face. Shitty winks at her and says to Dex, “Are you a consenting adult?”

“You have to say yes to play,” Bitty says.

“But I don’t understand what the game is,” Dex protests.

“Say yes!” Lardo says.

“Ok, yes, I’m a consenting adult,” Dex says.

“Your choice or mine?” Shitty asks.

“Say yours!” Lardo says. At the same time Bitty says, “If you’ve never played before say ‘mine.’”

“Oh shit,” Nursey says. “The  _ whipped cream game _ . I’ll be right back.” He clatters down to the basement fridge. The thump-stumble of Nursey tripping over his feet and the bottom step is audible to everyone in the Haus.

Dex looks at Nursey for a second. “Fine, yours,” he says to Shitty.

Shitty shakes the whipped cream. Then he takes Dex’s chin in his hand, spritzes a small perfect whipped cream flower on Dex’s nose, and licks it off.

Dex staggers back, wiping his face with his hand. “Oh my god, that’s gross.” 

Nursey reappears with a six pack, pops the tab, and drinks half a can in one swallow. “This game is way better shitfaced.”

Shitty hands Dex the whipped cream can. “All yours, bro.”

Dex looks around. He does not look at Nursey. He says to Bitty, “Are you a consenting adult.”

“Yes.”

“Your choice or mine?”

“Mine,” Bitty says quickly. He holds out his right hand. Dex delicately draws a whipped cream line on the back, and licks it off. Then he solemnly hands the can to Bitty.

Bitty gets Ransom’s bicep. Ransom goes for the inside of Jack’s elbow (“No, Rans, I’m not letting you lick whipped cream off my ass!” “Why not? It would be great!” “No.”). Jack gets Bitty’s collarbone. Bitty gets Tango’s knee. Tango gets Lardo’s hand.

Nursey brings up more beer. Dex drinks as though his life depends on it.

Holster zeroes in on Nursey. “Nurse! Are you a consenting adult?”

“Yes.”

“Your choice or mine?”

Nursey sighs. “Yours.” Holster lifts Nursey’s shirt, sprays a dot of whipped cream at the base of his ribcage, and licks it off.

Something twists inside Dex. He doesn’t like Holster licking Nursey, not at all.

Nursey turns to him with a smirk. “Poindexter. Are you–”

“Yes,” Dex grits out.

“Your choice or–”

“Yours.” Get this over with, get this over quickly–whipped cream, cool and soft and sweet-smelling against his lips.

“Woo!” Shitty yells.

Nursey leans in. Everything slows. Dex feels his heart rate kick up. Nursey licks the whipped cream off his mouth. And then Nursey is laughing and passing him the can.

Dex sets it down in the middle of the table. “No thanks,” he says. He feels electric. He can’t look at anyone in the room.

Shitty covers the awkward moment by grabbing the can and going for Jack.

Four more rounds and the can is empty. Dex’s heart has finally slowed.

Shitty laughs. “Remember the last time we played that game? Good times, good times.”

“Is this what they teach you at Harvard?” Dex asks.

Shitty chuckles. “Nah, bro. I learned that here.”

**May 2017**

Nursey is so tired he doesn’t see the tie on the door.

Or he sees it–blue tie, paisley pattern picked out in red, one of his–but his brain doesn’t register what it means until it’s too late and he’s opening the door.

Dex is sitting on the bottom bunk with his shorts open, boxers rucked down, and his dick out. He sees Dex’s hand move up and down once, twice, hears the wet slap of it–and then he’s calling out an apology and shutting the door.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry–” and Nursey is out in the hallway.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen Dex naked before. The locker room is a veritable forest of cocks. No one looks. No one comments. They’ll chirp each other about anything else–but nobody talks about anybody’s junk. The locker room is sexless, genderless, neutral. Safe.

This is different. Nursey goes downstairs and sits on the couch. William J. Poindexter: human irritation, great hockey player, and…fairly unimaginative masturbator? I mean, Nursey thinks. It’s just him and his slicked-up right hand.

I am not thinking about this.

Nursey takes his laptop out of his backpack, opens up his email, and pulls up the poems for workshop. He goes through and gives each one meticulous comments and line edits. Have you tried…? This makes me think of… I like the way you…

He does not think about Dex.

And hour later he goes back upstairs. There’s no tie on the door. There’s no Dex in the room, either–just a cracked window and a few crumpled tissues in the wastebasket.

Nursey imagines it right after, the smell of sex in the room. Stop, he thinks. 

He didn’t see Dex come downstairs. Is he in Chowder’s room? Bitty’s?

Nursey stops on the second floor landing. Dex is sitting out in the Reading Room, textbook open on his knees.

Nursey is too tired for this conversation. What would he even say? He has already apologized. Maybe that’s enough.

He goes to dinner and he goes to sleep, and he forgets about it all.

He forgets about it until Wednesday afternoon, when Dex has class. Dex has class for an hour and a half, and Nursey can get in some really quality alone time during those ninety minutes.

He likes to take his time. Take off his clothes. Play music, sometimes. Get in the mood. It’s more fun when it’s slow.

He doesn’t want to be slow today. Nursey climbs up to his bunk with tissues and lube. He unzips his jeans. It’s no time at all before he’s gasping and hard and halfway there already.

And Dex pops back into his head.

Dammit, he thinks, no, but he likes the idea, or at least his dick does. He likes the idea of what Dex’s skin would feel like. He already knows that Dex has freckles everywhere - face, shoulders, chest, belly, the curve of his hipbone. He likes the noises Dex would probably make.

He tries to pull his mind back to other fantasies–because it’s just creepy to jerk off to people you know in real life, people you see every day–but it’s too late.

He cleans himself up quickly, fixes his clothes. Puts the lube and the tissues away.

And then he sits on Dex’s bed and puts his head in his hands. Oh fuck, he thinks. This fucks up everything.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> The title comes from "Heathen" by Twenty One Pilots.
> 
> It's been fun putting these ficlets together and trying to make a coherent narrative out of them! Feel free to drop me a line about how well this worked (or didn't) on Tumblr. I'm @parrishsrubberplant.


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